Israel and the Little People
by Whistlepig
Summary: Here is a story just in time for St. Patrick's Day, with Leprechauns and Little People, and Mingo and the whole Boone family.


Israel and the Little People

It was an unseasonally heavy rainstorm, and thunder pounded, lightning flashed. Inside the snug cabin, the children were sitting by the fireside listening to Rebecca Boone tell stories of her childhood in Ireland. Daniel had his place of honor on the high-backed settle by the fire. Mingo, their Cherokee friend, sat in Becky's rocking chair, eyes closed, a faint smile playing about his lips as he listened too. The chair creaked as Mingo rocked slowly and rhythmically.

"Tell about the pooka," begged Israel.

"The pooka is much too scary a tale for bedtime," answered Becky, shaking her red head.

Jemima shuddered and nodded her agreement. "How about a story about the banshee?" she suggested, her eyes wide with the delightful anticipation of being scared.

"Oh, no, Jemima! The bean-sidhe are even worse than Pookas! You know they foretell death!"

The Irish lilt in Becky's voice gave her statement emphasis.

"Rebecca, they foretell death only for the O'Neills, O'Connors, O'Gradys, Kavanaghs, and O'Briens. I believe the Boones are safe!"Mingo spoke without opening his eyes. A mischievous grin lurked around the corners of his mouth.

"O'Brien, Bryan, it's all one to a bean-sidhe! As a Bryan, I'd rather not chance it!" Becky fired back.

"Perhaps a story about leprechauns?" suggested Mingo, opening his eyes and smiling.

"Mingo, ain't you a little old to be lis'nin' to stories about leprechauns? I cain't believe an Oxford-eddicated feller like yourself would admit to believin' in ghoulies 'n ghosties 'n long-leggedy beasties 'n things that go bump in the night."

Daniel's eyebrows were arched in mock disbelief, his green eyes dancing in mischief as he twitted his friend. "Ain't there stories about Cherokee Little People?"

"Daniel, leprechauns are not merely stories. Nor are Cherokee Little People." Mingo wore an aggravated look as he defended himself. "If the same Little People exist in the legends of two peoples as disparate as the Irish Celt and the North American aborigine, how can you doubt their existence? Most European countries have stories of elves or little people. Countries that haven't even been discovered yet will probably have the same stories!"

The chair began to rock a little faster, as if measuring Mingo's vexation with Daniel.

"Mingo, you ever seen a Little Person?" Daniel teased.

"Daniel," Mingo retorted sharply, "You had never seen an elephant before you made the acquaintance of Philip Astley and Old Bet. Yet when you saw her, you had no trouble recognizing the beast!"

"I'd seen pictures," Daniel admitted candidly. "But Mingo, you ain't answered me - have you ever seen a Little Person?"

"I would rather not say, Daniel," Mingo answered quietly, not meeting Daniel's eyes.

"Then you allow as how you have seen a Little Person!" Daniel chortled. He looked at his family as if to encourage them to join in the fun of teasing Mingo. There was no echoing laughter from the rest of the Boones. Indeed, Becky wore an indignant look much like Mingo's. Israel and Jemima looked shocked at their father's admitted disbelief..

Becky tried to soothe the irritated Cherokee.

"Mingo, the children and I would like to hear about Cherokee Little People. Do they look anything like Irish leprechauns?"

Mingo mastered his annoyance with Daniel and answered politely.

"Rebecca, Cherokee Little People look and sound much like any other Indian, only much shorter." He gestured with his hand about two feet from the floor. "They are quite handsome with hair that grows to the ground. Some call the Little People Yunwi Tsunsdi'. Others call them Nunnehi, the Gentle People."

Daniel's wife and children nodded respectfully. They had all heard of the Nunnehi. Mingo continued,

"There are three kinds of Little People."

Israel's mouth fell open in awe. Mingo held up one finger as he ticked off the different Little People.

"There are the Rock People, who punish misbehaving Cherokees. Whatever mean-spirited thing you do will come back on you." Another long slim digit went up. "There are the Laurel People, who like to play tricks." Mingo turned to Becky and smiled. "When you find your children laughing in their sleep, the Laurel People have been near." He held up the last finger. "Then lastly, there are the Dogwood People, who are good and take care of people."

Becky smiled back at Mingo. Plainly they were like-minded about the existence of Little People.

"My goodness, they do sound like leprechauns!"

Mingo agreed, "Yes, Rebecca, they do indeed. It is said that the word leprechaun comes from the Gaelic word luacharma'n which simply means 'pygmy'."

"What's a pig-what, Mingo?" asked Israel.

Mingo smiled at Israel. "A pygmy, Master Boone, is simply a man or animal of very small size."

Jemima had a question. "Couldn't you please tell me 'n Israel if you ever saw a Little Person?"

Mingo shook his head. "No Cherokee ever speaks of Little People after nightfall, Jemima. If I had ever seen a Little Person, as a good Cherokee, I would not speak of it for seven years!"

Mingo rose to his feet. The Boones began to protest his departure out into the rainy night. Mingo demurred at the suggestion he remain in the cabin to sleep.

"No, I prefer cold wet fresh air to narrow-minded stuffiness!" His words were directed at no one in particular, but the annoyed look he gave Daniel left no doubt as to whom he spoke.

Mingo ducked under the lintel as he exited and the door closed quietly. Jemima and Israel exchanged a glance and went quietly up the ladder to the loft and bed. There was stormy weather brewing inside the cabin too.

Becky whirled on her husband, "Daniel Boone! I have never been so mortified in my life!"

"Why, Becky," Daniel protested, "Mingo knows I was just funnin'. It's hard to believe anyone eddicated at Oxford would believe that superstitious folderol!"

Becky would have none of it. "Superstitious folderol! If you don't believe in Cherokee Little People, then you don't believe in leprechauns, pookas, banshees, or anything else!" Her eyes widened suddenly. "You probably don't even believe in fairies!"

"Aw, honeypie-" Daniel wheedled.

Becky stomped off to the alcove where she and Daniel slept. A pillow and blanket came flying out from behind the curtain. Daniel got the idea.

The sun and Israel were up very early the next morning. There was the barest hint of daylight as he came down the ladder fully dressed, his moccasins in his hand. He tiptoed out the cabin door, and paused on the porch to pull his footgear on.

The lean-to Mingo preferred to sleep in was about 40 feet from the cabin. Israel heaved a sigh of relief. The Cherokee was awake; had been for quite a while. He was replaiting his whip with several leather thongs he had already sliced from a cured deer hide.

Israel called, "Mingo!" in a stage whisper. Mingo looked up from his work with a broad smile for the little boy.

"You are just in time, Israel." Mingo rose to his fee smoothly. "Go fetch your fishing pole, and we will catch some breakfast trout." He winked and added, "If we're lucky, your mother will clean and cook them for us! Are your parents up yet? Jemima?"

"Naw," Israel shook his head. "Ma's still in the bed. 'Mima ain't up yet neither. Pa's feet was hangin' off the settle."

"Did he have a pillow and blanket?"

At Israel's nod, Mingo grinned wickedly.

"Mingo, why was Pa sleepin' on the settle?" Israel scratched absentmindedly at a mosquito bite.

"I would suspect, Israel, that your mother was displeased with your father for mocking her belief in what he calls 'superstitious folderol'." Mingo bit his lip to hide his wide smile, but nothing could disguise the mischief that danced in his dark eyes.

Israel had another question.

"I wanted to ask you again about Little People. It ain't after nightfall - kin you talk about 'em now?"

Mingo answered Israel's question with a question. "Are you ready to fish?"

"Naw," Israel shook his head. "I'druther hear about Cherokee Little People than go fishin'."

A pleading note crept into Israel's voice. Mingo put down the bullwhip, planted his hands on his hips and considered the matter. His eyes were narrowed tightly, his nose wrinkled while he pondered Israel's request. He knew Israel loved fishing more than anything else.

Israel appreciated the importance Mingo gave his question. The tall Cherokee understood him better sometimes than his ma and pa.

Mingo made up his mind. He beckoned Israel into his lean-to, bent down to the child's level and whispered,

"How old are you now, Israel?"

Mingo sat down on his blanket, crossed his legs at the ankles, and made himself comfortable. He held his arms open to Israel.

"Seven my last birthday," Israel whispered back. "How come?"

He settled himself in the well that was Mingo's lap, leaning back against his broad chest. Mingo's arms automatically tightened around the little boy, holding him close. Israel sighed in contentment.

"I think that's old enough. Perhaps if we whisper, the Nunnehi will not hear us!"

"You mean you kin tell me now?" Israel whispered.

"You must never tell a soul what I will tell you, Israel," Mingo said.

Israel knew that his Cherokee friend was deadly serious. "Cross my heart 'n hope to die," the child promised, just as seriously.

"Many years ago there lived a foolish young Indian boy," Mingo began to whisper into Israel's ear. "Not even as old as you, Israel, this willful boy did not do his share of gathering food for his tribe. He did not gather firewood or water for his mother when asked. The boy believed that since warriors did not do these things, he should not do them either."

"What happened to him?" Israel whispered back. "Did his pa larrup him?"

"His father was far away," Mingo murmured. "And the Cherokee do not 'larrup' their wayward children. His mother spoke to her brother, who was the chief of the tribe. The chief was most displeased with his nephew. He sent him before a tribal council of Beloved Women. The council decided that the boy should fetch wood and water for every lodge for a moon."

"Criminently!" breathed Israel, who hated fetching firewood and water for his mother. "Every lodge?"

"Every lodge," Mingo repeated solemnly.

"Did that boy do as he was told?" Israel questioned.

"No, Israel, he did not." Mingo shook his head. "He decided he would run away and live in the forest and never have to obey his elders again."

"Then what?" Israel persisted.

"Israel," Mingo said, in mock exasperation, "if you keep interrupting me, I will never finish this story, and there will be no trout for breakfast!"

Israel ran a finger across his lips indicating he would ask no more questions. Mingo chuckled and continued his tale.

"The boy did run away that very day. He walked farther than he had ever walked before, in a direction he had never traveled. He walked until his legs grew tired, and he was thirsty and hungry. Night was drawing in, and he heard the sounds of many animals. He had never been alone in the forest at night before, and he was frightened. He thought he heard singing and drumming, so he began to walk in that direction, hoping he might find food and shelter."

Israel's eyes were huge and round, but he did not say a word. He looked as if he might pop at any moment, so Mingo relented.

"You may ask one question, Israel."

"Then what?" Israel burst out.

"The boy could not find the place the sounds came from. He sat down under a tree to rest for a moment and fell asleep. When he awoke, he was surrounded by Little People. They were smiling and laughing. They took the boy's hands and he went with them willingly."

"Where'd they go?"

Israel forgot he was allowed only one question. Mingo had apparently forgotten too, for he continued speaking.

"They took him into a giant cave in a mountain the boy had never seen before. There were many, many Little People in the cave, and they were singing and dancing and drumming. The air was full of the smells of good food cooking. The boy forgot his tiredness and hunger and ran to join in the frolic. But the chief of the Little People stopped him."

"Why?" Israel asked.

"The chief told the boy that everyone must work together and do their part for the good of all. Before the boy could enjoy the singing and dancing or eat any of their food, he must fetch water for any Nunnehi who needed it, and bring firewood for every fire in that giant cave."

"Well, how do you like that?" Israel said to himself. "Then what?"

Mingo laughed.

"The boy did as he was told and replenished fires and carried water and did chores for the Little People. It seemed to the boy that for every fire he attended, for every pot he filled with water, there were ten more! He worked all night, harder than he had ever worked at home in his village. By the time he had finished his chores, the Little People had sung and danced the night away and eaten all the good food. There was no more dancing or singing, and nothing to eat either for that boy."

"THEN WHAT?" Israel was losing patience.

"The boy sat down to rest against the wall of the cave and fell asleep again. When he woke, he was sitting under the tree where his journey began. The cave and all the Little People were gone.

The boy found his way back to his village, where his mother and uncle and everyone were searching frantically for him. When he told everyone his story, they grew silent. His uncle asked if he had learned anything from his visit to the Little People's cave."

"What did he say?" Israel asked.

"I told Menewa that I had learned I must do my share of work for the good of my people, that I must earn the right to enjoy my life."

"That bad boy was YOU?" Israel's mouth hung open in astonishment.

Mingo nodded simply.

"You must not repeat this story, Israel. My people know that it is bad luck to speak of Little People. They do not like to be disturbed. If you ever see or hear one in the forest, you must go in the other direction and never speak of what you have seen. Little People are usually quite kind-hearted, but they can also cast a spell that will make you forget who you are and everything you know."

Mingo shifted Israel off his lap and rose to his feet in one fluid motion. He lifted his face into the air and sniffed appreciatively.

"It seems there will be no trout for breakfast today, Israel. Your mother is calling us, and if I am not mistaken, she is making corn cakes!"

He swatted Israel's backside gently and winked. "Let's fetch her some water and firewood!"


End file.
